That Prince Is A Girl: The Vicious King’s Slave Mate Novel

Chapter 203: How does one begin to let go of their other half? How does one learn to live without the person who had been their constant companion for over four thousand years? The weight of his loss pressed down upon him, suffocating him with its unbearable heaviness.

Stop thinking. Shut it off.

He had not been entirely truthful with Vladya. He remembered something-just a fragment of a memory that lingered. A scent. An intoxicating, alluring scent.

The details were hazy, a fleeting impression he couldn't quite grasp. He knew he would not recognize it if he smelled it again, but the memory of its uniqueness remained. It was not Vladya's scent either. Whose was it? Was it simply a figment of his broken mind? With a heavy sigh, he turned away from the window. His footsteps were soft as he made his way toward the bed, but sleep refused to come.

Hours drifted by in a restless vigil.

Daemonikai did not mind. He would rather remain awake than have nightmares assail him once more.

His people needed him. For their sake, he would find the strength.

GRAND LORD ZAIPER

Hours had passed, yet Zaiper remained trapped in a numbing fog of disbelief.

He moved through the motions like a hollow shell. It was as if an invisible puppeteer pulled his strings, leaving him to stumble through the night like a marionette.

He remembered smiling and clapping alongside the others when Daemonikai had risen. He hoped his smile had appeared genuine, that it looked convincing. That no one noticed the misery gnawing at his soul.

gⱯlnσν????????s﹒????оm opens doors to fiction

As they escorted Daemonikai from the arena to the fortress, Zaiper hoped his trembling knees and bloodshot eyes had gone unnoticed. He couldn't recall the last time he had felt such profound anguish, such raw pain. He clutched his chest, overwhelmed by the agony. Daemonikai was supposed to be dead. It was the finale of months of meticulous plotting. That was the plan. Tonight was meant to be his night of victory.

How had he survived? How had he escaped the clutches of feral madness?

"My Lord," a hesitant voice intruded upon his torment.

"Out, Razarr," Zaiper growled, his head still lowered. The door opened and closed with a soft click, leaving him alone with his despair.

He stared blankly ahead, his mind a maelstrom of confusion and anger. Nothing made sense anymore. Absolutely nothing. He should have struck sooner.

He should have eliminated Daemonikai days ago.

Everything had been for nothing. For nothing!

Tears welled in his eyes, hot and bitter.

A strangled sob escaped his throat, the sound echoing in the empty chamber as he began to weep.

EMERIEL

Three days later.

Emeriel and a group of fellow garden slaves were transported to a new land to work. The uncultivated land stretched before them, filled with native grasses, stubborn shrubs, fertile dirt, unruly weeds, vibrant wildflowers, and sporadic trees.

The slave master's command was clear: they were to clear this wilderness and transform it into a magnificent garden.

Some were tasked with the labor of felling trees and clearing away rocks and stones, while others were assigned less complex duties.

.

.

.